Untraceable (14 page)

“Legend has it that Tsali was buried under the blue waters of Fontana Lake.” A sad look scrolls across Tommy’s weathered face as he sits in silence.

I study the photo, curious to know more about the man behind the soft eyes. What does a Cherokee hero have to do with a small-town nobody like me? “Why are you telling me all this?”

Tommy takes the photo back and props it on his desk. “Elu, Tsali meant to help his wife that day. He didn’t mean to kill a soldier. He didn’t
mean
for any of it to happen. But sometimes innocent mistakes kick off a chain of serious events with dangerous consequences that you can’t know until it’s too late. I want you to remember that.” He squats down and cups my chin. “What I’m saying is this. Decide the best way to
help
your dad. Don’t be careless and let mistakes force you down a different path. A path that might take you farther away from him. A path you might regret.”

I hug him. “Thank you.”

He pats me on the back. “I didn’t do anything. Now go home and rest. I’ll take care of the store and keep an eye out for those guys.”

As I sit outside on my bike, I mull over what Tommy said and realize he’s right. I’m being careless. Taking too many chances. Maybe I need to chill out and not let all of this consume me so much. Maybe I can give myself a break and just enjoy a moment now and then. Try and relax, so I don’t make another mistake that could hurt someone I love or ruin my chances of finding Dad.

My phone sings in my pocket. My heart skips. It’s been a long time since I heard Wyn’s ringtone. Thought I’d deleted it. I almost answer but press DECLINE instead. My phone might as well have said REJECT. I feel awful but don’t want to lie and hide anything from him. He’ll know.

I jump on my bike and take off. As my bike snakes along the narrow road through mountainous terrain, I revel in my surroundings. I pass split-rail fences and old farmsteads, enjoying the wind rushing through my hair. The hot air burns my cheeks as I take in the spectacular views of the distant mountains and neighboring valleys.

Other than Luci, the river is the only place in the world where I feel a kind of lightness. As soon as I think about fishing, I recall Mo’s rejection. His response was so direct, I feel stupid for even saying anything. It’s obvious he’s about as interested in me as a dog is to fruit.

I shake it off. Doesn’t matter. Mo’s a complication. A distraction. The last thing I need right now.

Then again, maybe he’s just what I need to live a little.

I’m so busy daydreaming about Mo, it takes a minute for my brain to register the grumbling noise growing louder behind me.

I glance in my rear view mirror but the sun is so bright, it takes me a second to make out the outline of a truck tailing me way too close for comfort.

My heart drums against my breastbone.

Al’s back.

I punch down on the pedal with the toe of my shoe and lurch forward.

The truck speeds up and inches closer, like a wild dog nipping at my heels. I climb to a hundred miles per hour, knowing this speed is dangerous but hoping my knowledge of these winding roads will help me lose the truck. Squinting in the bright sun, I glance back again. The vehicle is so close I can practically count the bugs splattered on the grill.

The vehicle swerves into the opposite lane and moves next to me. A semi whizzes around the mountain bend and forces the truck back in line behind me. I focus on the swervy road and accelerate, adding more distance between us.

My hands tremble, making it hard to keep the handlebars steady. The dry air blows through my mouth and nose. One move can send me to my death. Cars whiz toward me, forcing the truck to stay in our lane. The engine seems to growl and nip at my bike’s heels. One time, I react quickly and jerk the handlebars too hard. Luci panics and fishtails, but I manage to steady her without crashing.
 

As soon as the opposite lane clears, the pick-up truck changes lanes, almost clipping my back tire, and speeds up next to me.

My breath rushes out in rapid, shallow bursts. My knuckles are white from grasping the handlebars so hard. I can’t tell which is worse, crashing at this speed or seeing Al’s face again.
 

The rumbling beast hovers only a few inches away. So close, I can hear the music’s bass pounding from inside the cab.

For fear of losing control, I avoid looking and zero in on the pavement rolling under me.

Then the horn blares and someone yells out the window. “Hey, Graceless. Get that piece of shit off the road!” A thunder of laughter follows. As the truck speeds by me, a zit-faced kid from my class shoots me the bird.

I scream from underneath the helmet, “Asshole!” As tears fill my eyes, I slam on the brakes. Luci fishtails again and skids along the shoulder of the road.

Once we stop, I clamber off my bike and bend over the guardrail. My stomach burns, and my muscles clench. A burp sends a swirl of acid up my throat. I take deep breaths, willing my gut to relax. Even though I know I’m safe, my body still reacts as if I’m not. Clenching and shaking.

When I’m finally stable enough to drive, I mount Luci and sit for a second. Glancing down, I spot the faded picture of Dad and me duct-taped to Luci’s black and red gas tank. I exhale slowly, wishing more than anything he was here right now to hold me. Tell me everything’s going to be okay. Eventually, I roll out onto the highway and putter home going twenty-five an hour, my slowest speed in history.

As soon as Luci rolls to a stop in my driveway, I race up the porch steps and bolt inside, locking the doors behind me. I flip off all the lights and draw the curtains before crawling to the top of the stairs.

There, I sit. In the dark. Alone.

My body quivers like one of my grandma’s little chihuahuas. I pull out my ponytail elastic and rake my fingers through my hair before twisting it up into a tight bun. My fear shifts into anger. Stupid boys. Maybe I’ll get Wyn to kick that kid’s skinny ass for me. Serves him right for almost mowing me down.

Then again, maybe I’ll just do it myself.

Thank God it wasn’t Al. His sneering face flashes across my mind, causing me to rub my neck. Can’t help but still feel that knife pressing against my throat, a centimeter from slicing my jugular. The blade burning my skin. Most of all, I can’t stop thinking about how his eyes bore into mine. How cold they were. How empty. I bury my head in my knees, trying to block out his face. Tommy’s right, I need serious help.

After what seem to be hours, I force myself off the stairs and into my room so I can change into PJs. Lying on my bed, I watch the ceiling fan spin above me. Now I know how the fan feels, spinning in circles, going nowhere. Eventually, I get dizzy and shut my eyes. But just as I’m about to fall asleep, a clattering noise barrels up the driveway. I jolt upright as if my heart’s been electrocuted back to life. I roll off the bed and crawl on all fours to the window. It takes me a second to muster up enough courage to peek over the windowsill, half expecting to see Al’s truck.

Instead, Les’s heap rolls down the driveway.

Relieved, I pull on my favorite bear slippers and race downstairs, skipping every other step. Just as I step onto the porch, Les climbs out of the cab and ambles toward me dressed in a green park ranger uniform. His belly slumps over a tight belt working to contain a suffocating waist. Les is bald except for a thin ring of coarse red hair that stubbornly clings to his freckled head. He sports a red and grey speckled goatee and constantly chews tobacco, reminding me of the poor fat goats stuck in petting zoos. He never looked like a real ranger to me. But according to Dad, Les knows this national park better than anyone.

“Mornin’, Grace,” Les grunts as he trudges up the porch stairs in his familiar cruddy boots, the same nasty ones he’s been wearing since I was about four. Les calls them his lucky boots; I designate them as a health hazard. There’s no telling what’s on or in those smelly things.

As Les teeters up the steps, each wooden plank screeches, threatening to cave beneath his weight. Panting, he throws out his chubby hand. “How yah doing?”

“Hey, Les.” I stare at his pudgy hand. Shaking it totally grosses me out. His palms are always clammy, and his grip never quite firm enough, like clutching onto a limp fish. I give his hand a speedy shake and discretely wipe my palm on my PJs. “What’re you doing here?”

He gurgles out some slobbery words. “Your mama said you had a broken door.”

Since Dad went missing, Les has made an effort to come by the house and help Mom with her “honey-do” list. As he breathes, a whiff of tobacco punishes my nostrils. I press one finger under my nose and nod to the screen door lying on the porch. “Over there.”

Les waddles over and inspects the rusted hardware. “This’ll be no problem.” He drags the frame across the porch. “Wanna help?”

I scrunch up my nose and motion to my pajamas decorated with little bears and trees. “Thanks, but I’m not really dressed for hard labor.”

“Suit yourself.” He jiggles the door hinges. One falls off and clangs against the wooden floor. He huffs, “Dang thing is completely stripped.” He reaches over and grabs a screwdriver, offering me another sneak peak at his smiling buttocks.

I avert my eyes. “Les? Can I ask you something?”

He keeps his eyes on the project at hand and spits over the side of the porch before answering. “Sure thing.”

I try to sound casual. “Have you seen anything unusual on patrol lately?”

Les stops and squints at me. “Can’t say I have. Why?”

I shrug and try to appear all relaxed, even though every muscle in my body is stiffening. “I ran into a couple guys in the woods and they sort of … threatened me.”

Les dribbles black goo into a white Styrofoam cup. “What do you mean, sort of?” I recap the event, using the Cliffs Notes version, but leave out all the gory details to avoid getting into trouble. Les is like Carl. He doesn’t favor people snooping around his domain.

When I finish, Les whistles. “You’re lucky. Never know what hunters can do. Bad thing about them is that you can guarantee they will always be armed with something. Where are they now, do you know?”

I shift in my bear slippers and think about what to say before answering. “No, but I know the coordinates of their campsite and a license number.”

He takes out a tiny notepad from his back pocket. “Well, good for you. What’d those fools look like?”

My body relaxes as I let the large burden roll off my shoulders. “One was big, the other skinny.”

He writes as he nods. “You get their names?”

I swallow and force out the words. “Al and Billy.”

He chuckles as he jots more notes down in his little book. “You’re a regular Nancy
Drews
.”

I sigh at the incorrect reference. “It’s Nancy Drew. Anyway, they were sitting behind me at the diner, and I overheard them talking about bears. I followed them so I could tell you about it.”

Les chuckles. “Well, good fer you. You shore got some balls, Grace. Just like your daddy.”

The comment totally grosses me out, and I’m not sure how to respond. “Uh, thanks? I think.”

“You tell Captain?”

I pick at the loose button on my jammie shirt. “Not yet. I knew you’d want to handle it and check them out first. I mean, since it’s your territory and all.”

Les sniffs and straightens up. “Yeah. You’re right about that.”

“There’s more. I think these guys knew my dad. Recognized a photo.” I look down at the floor, afraid to see his reaction. “Maybe they had something to do with him going missing.”

Les leans over and snatches a nail between his fat fingers, getting back to work. “Hm. I must say this is all mighty … interestin’. Can definitely bring them in for questioning. If I can find them. Usually these kind of guys run off once they’re seen.”

Part of me wonders if he is saying that to get me off his back. Like Carl does. Then again, Dad trusted Les, so I know I can too. “Will you ask them about Dad?”

“Of course, I will.” He trudges back toward the truck and calls out over his shoulder. “Don’t you go out in them woods ‘til I call you. Those guys sound like they could be trouble.”